Traumas of a Teenager
by anacsadder
Summary: Ultimateverse. Teeny bit of slash. Harry Osborn has the worst day of his life, and things are only getting worse...


FATR: Hm… Well, this is Ultimate Spider-Man based, with one or two creative liberties taken here and there. It takes place before Peter's bitten by the spider. Um… I don't own the rights to anything Spider-Man related, though I'd love to own the rights to Ultimate Otto. My lawyers (aka my muses) tell me that will never happen, but who can blame a girl for dreaming? Enjoy the suckiest day of Harry's life.

X)O(X

Harry, a near perfect picture of a zombie or a brain puppet, slouched in the glow of his computer monitor. His back ached, his eyes throbbed, and his fingers were threatening to go on strike, but this had to be done. It had to be done in… His eyes flicked to the clock in the right hand corner of the screen. He still had an hour to finish the paper and get some sleep before school. It wasn't ideal, but it would have to work. Why did this always happen? He'd gotten the assignment a month ago, yet had still put it off until the final week. This always happened. No wonder his father was so disappointed in him. Harry was a rich party boy who'd never amount to anything if it wasn't for his father's money… The teenager forced these all too familiar thoughts away and plunged onward. No, it wasn't an A paper, or even a B. Hell, even a C seemed dubious at this point, but anything was better than a zero, right?

Harry finished typing, mouthing the words as he finished. He skimmed the last paragraph before deciding proof reading was a luxury he just couldn't afford at that moment. Breathing a sigh of relief, he saved, pressed the print key, and lounged back in the chair. He closed his eyes and ran his hands through his auburn hair before realizing the room was conspicuously silent. The youth sat up and glanced from the monitor, to the printer, and back again. He clicked the printer button again. Nothing happened the third or fourth time either. "Piece of shit…" He hissed and went to exit the word processor so he could restart the computer. Again, to his severe agitation, nothing happened. He cursed the technological demon out again and pressed control alt delete. This time, as before, the exact opposite of anything happened. Harry growled and kicked the tower. The action--driven primarily by a total lack of sleep and all of its accompanying negative moods--did little more than force more agonized curses from Harry's throat. Now he was sleep deprived, homeworkless, _and_ walking with a slight limp.

_Note to self—never kick something harder than your foot if you're not wearing shoes. _

Harry collapsed on his bed with his arms spread wide and closed his eyes. All he really wanted to do now was sleep, if only for a few minutes, but even that bit of comfort wouldn't be afforded to him. The shrill cry of his alarm clock stabbed through his brain. Harry, too exhausted and frustrated to move much, snatched his pillow and plopped it over his face. He pressed harder on it, briefly considering just smothering himself, at least into a state of unconsciousness, but the idea quickly lost appeal when his lungs began to burn. There were other ways to avoid school, but he doubted there was any way in hell his father would let him skip. Even if Harry was dying of cancer, he doubted… A sharp rap on his door cut through his thoughts and he groaned.

"Harry, honey, are you awake?" His mother called from the other side of the wooden barrier.

"Yes," Harry answered, his voice muffled by the pillow.

"Honey?" His mother called again.

Harry lifted the pillow away from his mouth just long enough to yell, "Yes!" Then the pillow fell right back into place.

"Hurry up or your breakfast will get cold," came the sweet reply.

Harry listened to his mother's footsteps pad away down the hall, fading into the large house. As soon as she was out of earshot, he threw off the pillow and just lay across his bed glaring at the ceiling. "Dammit," he growled as he dragged himself into a sitting position. With his eyes closed, he fumbled around for a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He pulled the t-shirt on without a problem, but mis-stepped while putting on his pants. He tumbled to the floor, throwing his hands out to catch himself. This had the makings of a horrible day written all over it. He would've loved to spend it hiding in his lavish room, maybe blowing up some zombies, but he knew that wasn't an option. Besides, with the way his luck was going, his TV, his game station, or both, would short out. He dragged his pants on, still sitting on the floor, and stumbled to his feet to do up the fly.

When he entered the dining room, his father was sitting at the far end of the table. It was hardly past seven and Norman Osborn was already chewing somebody out about something. It was almost as though that cell phone was glued to his ear. The teenage boy smiled as he took his seat across from his mother. One of the household employees deposited a plate of food in front of him and disappeared back through the door; though Harry knew he was still within earshot in case they needed anything else. He lifted his fork and poked at the pancakes. They were normally his favorite, but he really didn't feel very well this morning.

"Are you all right?" Harry's mom leaned forward slightly, trying to catch a better look at her son's face. There were dark circles under his slightly bloodshot eyes. "You look pale."

"I was up late working on a paper, is all," Harry muttered. He didn't want to give his father an excuse to call him weak or lazy.

"I don't know why you bother, it never amounts to anything!"

Harry jumped, stung, before he realized his father was still on his cell phone. He could hear a timid voice babbling nervously on the other end before his father slammed the phone shut and banged it on the table.

"Stupid, incompetent…" His father growled. He noticed his son watching him warily out of the corner of one eye. "What's wrong with you?"

"Take it easy, Norman, the boy had a long night," Harry's mother intervened.

"Only weaklings need sleep," Norman scolded. Then he dug into his pancakes and the subject was dropped.

Harry picked at his breakfast, the weight of the silence increasing the slouch in his posture. These exchanges were normal, but in the light of recent events the lack of sound was even more oppressing.

"Sit up straight, Harry," his father's sharp voice commanded.

This was the last thing Harry needed this morning. He was in no mood to face off with his father, and with his lack of sleep, he doubted his self-control. Harry rose to his feet, pushing the chair away with the backs of his knees. "I'd better get going. I don't want to be late." He kissed his mother on the cheek, nodded at his father, and trailed back upstairs to brush his teeth and put together his book bag. He put on his shoes, hopping on one foot down the hall. It was a risky move considering his recent chain of luck, but he avoided injury. Okay, so his computer crashed and he tripped putting on his pants. That didn't mean anything. Today might turn out just fine.

The garage door rumbled open, allowing the fresh morning light to sparkle off the expensive automobiles inside. In all honesty, there were times Harry wished he could just be a regular kid, like Peter or Flash, or some compromise between the two. He opened the door to his aqua Porsche and tossed his backpack on the passenger seat. Watching over his shoulder, he backed out of the space, and then turned and rolled down the driveway. At the bottom he paused to turn on the player and locate his favorite CD. There was an eight disk changer in the trunk of his car, and he couldn't remember if it was disk two or disk five. The car had been his mother's idea, mostly. Her argument for Norman had been that it would encourage Harry to be more independent. His mother knew how to talk to that unpleasantly rigid man. Why couldn't Harry figure it out?

After locating the song he continued on his way. The sun was bright, traffic wasn't bad, and the music perked him up considerably. "Scar tissue that I wish you saw sarcastic mister know it all…" He sang along—something he only did in private—with the thick, unclear twang of the Red Hot Chili Peppers. "Close your eyes and I'll kiss you 'cause with the birds I'll share…" Harry couldn't understand why he'd felt so negative this morning. Sure he was tired, but today would be just... His thoughts were interrupted when he hit a bump and the song started skipping. Harry scowled and started fumbling with the skip forward and back button. Why'd he let himself think everything would be okay? Fate hated to be tempted like that.

He gave up on the CD and looked up just in time to see the light turn red right in front of him. The teen slammed on his breaks and just sat there, panting. Horns blared behind him, but he tuned them out. It wasn't like him to be that careless while driving. He may have been a party kid, but there was no way in hell he'd ever bring a car related accident home to his dad. His father already hardly trusted him to take care of things. The light switched back to green and Harry moved on slowly. Nothing else reared up to bite him the rest of the way, but he retained as sharp a focus as his sleep deprived brain would allow.

Harry pulled into his parking space and slid out into the parking lot. He'd beat Flash and Kong to school today, to his disappointment. If there was any morning Harry needed a good laugh, this would be the morning. Unfortunately, his birthday was early in the school year, so he'd been the first of them to start driving. He shrugged his backpack onto one shoulder as he made his way to the flowing, swirling crowd of voices and bodies in front of the school. Some of the popular girls flashed perfect smiles at him and tried to entice him over with their short skirts and flirty hair flips. Harry smiled back but didn't really feel like dealing with them right now. He'd never tell his father, but the clean cut, flower petal soft creatures never really sparked his fancy. Harry was looking for a stronger woman, one with a good head on her shoulders. He didn't want a nice girl pampered by her daddy and… With these thoughts, he trailed into the building. It was quieter inside, and would be until the bell rang. Silence was just fine with Harry.

"Harry! Hey!"

The teenage sophomore looked up to see one of the freshmen waving wildly at him from about halfway down the hall. The brown-haired, bespectacled youth was closing his locker was one hand, balancing his book bag on one shoulder, and waving at Harry with his free hand. A ghost of a smile flitted across Harry's gaunt face. The freshman, Peter Parker to be specific, was a typical nerd. He was brilliant for his age, especially in science, but clumsy both physically and socially. More than that—though high school politics prevented him from announcing it—he felt closer to Peter than Flash or Kong. Harry strolled down the hall, glad the pain in his foot had finally abated. "Morning, Pete," he smiled.

Peter looked up at his friend, concern filling his eyes. "Are you okay?"

Harry slumped against a locker. "Just had a bad morning. I stayed up all night working on that damned paper, and right as I was about to print it the stupid son-of-a-bitch crashed. I hurt my foot, my father was being a prick again, and…" He trailed off and shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, I didn't mean to unload on you like that."

Peter tried to sound encouraging. "Maybe she'll let you turn in the paper tomorrow, if you, like, tell her the story, or…"

Harry shook his head and shifted his weight to his other foot. "Nah, you know how much she hates me…"

"Well…" Peter thrust his hands in his pockets. "I've had plenty of bad days, and I always bounce back." He shrugged and grinned. "Well, at least you have the chemistry homework…"

Harry had been half awake, contemplating his sneakers, but at the mention of the homework he was suddenly wide awake. His head snapped up and he gaped at his friend. "There… there was chemistry homework? He didn't mention…"

"It was written on the board."

Harry let his head slam back against the lockers behind him with a loud clang. "Stupid…" He mumbled to his self, punctuating each word with the crash of his head against the lockers. "Stupid, stupid, stupid…"

"Calm down, I've got it covered." Peter plopped his bag on the floor and pulled out a bright red folder. From it, he extracted a sheet of chemical equations, neatly balanced, checked, and rechecked. He handed it to Harry. "He doesn't usually collect the work, but if you have time, you might want to copy it over in your own handwriting."

Harry stared blankly at the smaller teenager for a moment, slowly taking the paper into his own hands. He willed his tired eyes to focus on the page and grinned. "Wow… thanks. I'll walk you to class, keep the bullies off your back for the morning. How about it?"

Peter shook his head. "You don't have to do that," he answered meekly. "I mean, even I know how high school politics work…"

Harry shook his head and laughed, starting down the hall towards Peter's first period. "Don't be ridiculous. Besides, I could really use the support today. I have a feeling things aren't going to get much better." He stifled a yawn and sensed Peter's mental shrug as he fell into step beside him. "So how're things going with you-know-who?"

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Don't play dumb with me," Harry smiled. "I'm talking about Red." Peter continued to stare at him blankly, and the older teenager couldn't decide if it was real or faked cluelessness. "You know, Brainy Janey."

Peter scowled. "Don't call her that."

Harry's grin widened. "Oh, so you do like her…"

Peter blushed and stared at the floor. "We're just friends."

"Sure," Harry nodded and winked. "Friends…" They stopped outside a classroom door.

"This is my stop. See you around, maybe?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, sure," Harry answered and started to walk away. After about five steps he stopped and turned around. Peter was halfway into the classroom. "Hey, Pete," Harry called and waved the paper with the homework answers on it. "Thanks. You're a real lifesaver." The freshman smiled back and nodded before disappearing into the classroom. The door closed and Harry turned towards his first period, trying and failing to shake off the bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

At first he'd thought he wouldn't have anything to worry about until fourth period. That was all the way after lunch, and though he wasn't looking forward to stressing through lunch, he thought he could handle it. Hell, maybe during lunch he could close his eyes for just a bit. With this to look forward to, Harry sprawled across his desk, copying equations until he was interrupted by a rather large shadow. "Hey, Kong," he mumbled without looking up.

"You talk to Flash yet?"

Harry sensed the excitement in the other boy's voice. Kong was fun, not a bad guy, really, but his IQ was, doubtless, lower than even his namesake's. If it wasn't for Flash, Harry doubted Kong would really even pick on Peter. The auburn-haired boy finished the equation he was on and allowed his sleep blurred gaze to wander up the mountain in front of him. The fluorescent lights reflected off the shaved scalp. "No. Why?"

"Dude, his parents are gonna be out of town this weekend and he's throwing the hugest…" Kong trailed off and studied the dark circles under his friend's eyes. "Dude, you sick or something?"

Harry let out an exasperated sigh and covered it with a yawn. He was starting to get sick of people asking him that. "I'm just tired," he responded a little too snappishly. Quickly recovering he added, "So, the hugest…?"

Kong flew back into excited exclamations that, though he felt guilty about it, Harry was having trouble paying attention to at the time. However, the idea of a party had a fair amount of pull. The bell rang and Kong took his seat. It was then that Harry's optimistic expectations for the day, even the rest of the week, came crashing down.

There was a clatter of desks and the spatters of conversation died down as the teacher stood and reached into his desk drawer. "As most of you may know, today's a very special day."

His hand returned clutching a small stack of stiff blue papers bound in a rubber band. Half of the class groaned, Harry included. On top of everything else, he would now have the dubious pleasure of examining documented evidence that he was a hopeless idiot. Not only that, but he was lucky enough to have a last name that began with an 'O,' thus drawing out the torment of waiting and wondering about the situation's degree of hopelessness. When it was finally his turn, Harry trudged to the front of the room in a somnambulant haze, accepted his death warrant, ignored the teacher's disapproving eyes, and trudged back to his seat. His mood merely plummeted to all new levels of low when he read over the document. There would be no party this weekend, not if his parents saw this. Even Harry's mother, who usually defended him when his father started elevating to full-blown asshole status, wouldn't approve of this. Despite the chaos that would doubtlessly be its closing, Harry couldn't wait for this day to end. So what if he was so grounded it wasn't even funny? All he wanted to do was lock himself in his room and hide under his covers.

Most of the morning just drifted in and out of focus after that. Harry stared blankly at the front of the room, occasionally nodding as though he were seriously contemplating the lesson and murmuring in agreement with the students around him. In third period he finally drifted off to sleep in the back of the room. The class was geometry, which led to a rather unpleasant dream about being chased by a fire-breathing square and getting tangled between the lines of a proof. Harry struggled and screamed as its jaws snapped shut with a loud crack.

He jerked upright in his desk and hit his head against the back wall, realizing the crack had come from Flash's ruler thwacking his desk. The entire classroom was in hysterics. That's when Harry realized he'd just shrieked out loud, and he didn't have the manliest scream in the world, either. The teacher's critical glare burned him from the front of the room.

"Do you have something you'd like to share with the class, Mr. Osborn?" The teacher asked.

"No, ma'am…" Harry whispered, sinking into his desk.

"You are aware that your last name earns you no special treatment here?"

Harry slumped even lower as mortification flushed his cheeks. Why on earth did she have to bring that up? It wasn't like he chose to be born into a pile of money. "Yes, ma'am…"

"Then you'll just have to try to stay awake like the rest of us, won't you?"

"Yes, ma'am…" The lesson continued and Harry shot a death glare across the isle at Flash. Flash just shrugged and flashed him a cheesy grin. Harry's eyes continued on up the way and fell on the back of Peter's head. Peter seemed to sense he was being watched and glanced back to see who was doing the watching. There wasn't any real expression on Peter's face, but Harry could see the 'that totally wasn't fair' in the other boys eyes. Harry shrugged, Peter turned back to the lesson, and Harry spaced out until the lunch bell rang. Scraping, scuffling, and thumping filled the room as students grabbed their bags and dove for the freedom of the door.

"Don't forget the test Friday," the teacher called, but it would be a miracle if it had been heard over the din.

Harry slid out with the crowd, trying to avoid Flash, the Teacher, Peter… basically just trying to avoid anyone who might try to stop and talk to him. He was feeling anything but social, now. In fact, thanks to the teacher's comment, he felt too self-conscious to even show his face in the lunchroom. When he tried to ask him mom for a t-shirt or something he saw in the mall or, god forbid, Target, she'd tell him there was no reason for him not to have 'nice clothes.' As far as his mom was concerned, 'nice' mean 'expensive.' He hated to seem ungrateful, but he hated it. He hated when his mom dragged him to those hoity-toity stores with the snobbish sales people and…

"Harry! Wait up, man!"

Harry cringed at the sound of Flash's voice but tried to be civil never the less. It looked like it wouldn't be easy, not in his current state of perpetual grouchiness, but he would try… "What's up?" He asked, slowing down so the jock could catch up.

"Man, what a bitch, embarrassing you like that in front of everybody…" Flash shook his head.

_She wouldn't have even known I was sleeping if you hadn't decided to be such an asshole jerk off_.

Harry gritted his teeth and shrugged it off yet again. Real men didn't show any weakness, or so his father told him. "I'll get over it."

"You hear about the party?" Flash continued, oblivious to the tired scowl on Harry's face.

"I did…" Harry answered slowly. "I don't think I'll be able to show, though…"

Flash stopped walking. "Aw, come on, you're the only one with access to booze."

Harry kept walking without looking back. He heard Flash throw up his hands and slap them down at his sides with an exasperated sigh. Causing Flash to experience even a minute portion of the frustration Harry had been feeling all morning made Harry smile. It was passive aggressive, but that didn't bother Harry. He tried not to think at all as he forged a way to the lunch room. Focusing on the nonsensical hum of noise all around turned out to be a considerable assistance in reaching this goal.

Harry fought his way across the cafeteria and fell in line behind Peter at the soda machine. Peter wordlessly stepped back a space and nodded at the gap in front of him. The meaning of the action didn't register for a few moments, but Harry finally smiled and moved in front of Peter. Harry waited while the girl in front of him bought three cherry sodas, kicking at the ground and fidgeting with his shirt hem. People often sent one representative from the table to brave the lines and bring back food for everyone. That ticked Harry off, especially when the pizza ran out because of it. Harry stepped up, reached into his pocket and felt around for his lunch money. His fingers encountered chilly cafeteria air as they slid clear through the hole in the bottom of his pocket. He glared at the two fingers protruding from the bottom of his pocket before digging in all of his other pockets. His search turned up a stick of gum, his car keys, a candy bar wrapper, and a paper clip, but nothing with which he could purchase a carbonated beverage. He'd been looking forward to that soda, too. To think, after all the shit he'd taken from that teacher he didn't have any money to buy a goddamned…

Someone tapped him on the back and he turned to see Peter holding a dollar bill out to him. Harry took the money slowly and made eye contact with the shorter boy. "I can't…"

Peter laughed and shook his head. "Please, it's what friends do for each other."

Harry relented. "All right, but I'm buying you lunch someday." Peter didn't accept and he didn't decline, just shrugged and offered Harry a sheepish look. The older boy put the dollar in the machine and pressed the button for cherry soda. Some lights blinked and 'sold out' flashed across the little screen before it once more displayed the amount of money currently inserted. All he wanted was one cherry soda! One stupid cherry soda! Was that really so much to ask after all that had happened? Harry put one hand on each side of the machine and drew strange looks from passing students as he began to bang his head repeatedly against its glowing surface. He ignored them, cursing the offending piece of technology before giving it a good, swift kick.

"You do know that kills brain cells."

Harry looked over his shoulder at Peter and sanity slowly reasserted itself. Today had sucked so badly, despite Peter's efforts to cheer him up, but Harry was still grateful for those efforts. He smiled at Peter and pressed the button for regular soda. "It would explain a lot, I guess."

"What do you mean?" Peter asked as he stepped up and paid for his orange soda.

Harry fumbled in a side pocket of his backpack and produced his crumpled report card. Just for today he'd ignore high school politics and associate with Peter in public. He was too tired to keep up an image.

Peter took it and scanned it as they weaved through the crowd. "Three C's," Peter finally shrugged.

"Two D's and an F in the classes you didn't help me with," Harry pointed out.

"One's a C plus," Peter insisted.

"My father will murder me."

"No he won't," Peter laughed.

"Oh, yes he will, and he'll pay the cops to sweep in under the rug, too." Harry wondered what kind of idiot he was, anyway. He had a straight A student doing his homework for him! How could he not do any better than that?

Peter suddenly looked around. "Where's Flash?"

"My vocabulary isn't big enough to describe how much I hate that guy right now," Harry snarled.

"If you hate him so much, why do you put up with him?"

"I ask myself that every other day," Harry sighed and stuffed the blue paper of shame back into the dark recesses of his backpack where it belonged. "He's got a few good points. I know you never see them," Harry added when he noticed the incredulous expression on Peter's face, "but people aren't always what they seem. It's all about putting on masks and talking big, trying to look good and fit in. You know? Sometimes you have to push down who you are, what you want, and just take it, just to survive…"

Peter stared for a moment before laughing out loud.

"What?" Harry asked, not without a touch of indignation.

"You sound like a cheesy, angsting comic book character."

Harry mentally reviewed what he said and laughed too. "Nah, that's just the sleep deprivation talking."

"But I suppose you're right, about Flash I mean. I just wish…"

That was the moment the small white projectile chose to come dropping out of the heavens. Both boys jumped and blinked as the milk carton met its target, Peter, and exploded in a show of white liquid.

"Bull's eye!" Flash crowed as the cafeteria erupted with peals of laughter.

Harry watched numbly as Peter slowly removed his glasses and wiped them on the edge of his shirt. "Pete?" Harry reached out a hand but Peter slapped it away.

"Forget it. I wouldn't want to spoil your image…"

Peter's words stung Harry deeper than he would have expected. Harry whirled on Flash, eyes smoldering. "You complete and utter ASSHOLE!" Harry screamed, startling himself just as much as he did Flash and the others. "I can't believe I just tried to defend you, you useless piece of shit!"

Kong gaped for a moment before breaking the silence with, "Chill out, man, we were just goofing…"

Flash smirked. "Yeah, what's your problem? You gay for the little dweeb or something?"

Harry's fists clenched at his sides and he forced his anger down. He wouldn't let himself get dragged into a fight, not today, not on top of everything else he'd have to explain to his father. He didn't want to give Flash the satisfaction or the ammunition. Besides, the lunchroom monitors could take care of this. Of course, why did Harry think this horrible day would let him get away without something else to throw on the pile?

As he whirled around to storm off, he slipped in the spilled milk, overbalanced under the weight of his book bag, and fell flat on his ass. Laughter promptly filled the surrounding air, echoing off the walls. That was the last straw. Harry threw off his backpack and stalked toward Flash. Peter tugged on the back of his shirt, trying to prevent Harry from doing something stupid. Harry brushed him off, grabbed Flash by the color of his jacket, and literally dragged him across the table and out of the booth. "Let's see how funny you think this is." Harry's fist connected with the jock's jaw. Flash growled and punched Harry in the stomach. His breath left him and Harry stumbled back a few steps, clutching his stomach. Kids were beginning to cheer and chant now.

"Fight, fight, fight, fight…"

Harry looked up slowly then lowered his head again and headbutted Flash right in the solar plexus, driving him back against a table. Soda spilled, food scattered, and the girls sitting there screamed. Harry ignored all this and pulled his hand back to deliver the fight ending blow. Rough hands grabbed him from behind and dragged him off.

"Mr. Osborn, what is the meaning of this?"

Harry groaned as he recognized the voice of his third period teacher. His eyes slowly focused on the irate woman standing three feet away with her hands on her hips. "He said-" Harry began.

"I don't know what's wrong with you today, but you can't just jump other students in the cafeteria! To the dean's office with you, now!"

Harry wanted to cry. Why the hell was everyone against him today? What twisted being was pulling the strings of his life like this? Was it getting some twisted satisfaction out of watching him suffer? "That's not fair! I didn't do anything!"

"If you don't want to go alone, Officer Benton here can escort you."

Harry snarled and snatched up his soda and his backpack. "I'm going, I'm going." He stormed out of the cafeteria without even turning to see how Peter had faired. All well, at least he had his soda. The caffeine probably wouldn't be good for his nerves but… Harry paused with his hand on the cap. He looked down at the bottle, then up at the sky. If he opened it, it would doubtlessly explode all over him or something like that. "Ha, I'm not falling into this one, and you can't make me!" He shoved the bottle into his backpack and trudged up the stairs to the dean's office. That had been close.

The wait in the dean's office would've been awful if Harry had been mentally conscious. His eyes were open but they were glazed and aimed at the ceiling. Harry was plotting escape, wondering if he could past the one students had dubbed the Parking Lot Nazi. Of course his daydreams were no more realistic than his dream had been earlier. In his escape plan he was James Bond. He knocked out all of the Dean's evil henchmen with a series of sweet Kung Fu moves, slipped out through that little ventilation shaft near in the ceiling, and shot a rope from the roof to the one of the trees in the parking lot. He shimmied down the rope, dropped into his car where a beautiful dark haired bondgirl was waiting, and drove off to his next adventure. He smiled to himself, dwelling with special detail on the girl. She wore a garter for carrying her gun, kept a switchblade between her breasts, and knew how to use both with deadly accuracy.

Harry was snapped rudely out of his fantasy world by a voice calling his name. The teenager dragged himself to his feet and trudged into the office like a prisoner going to the electric chair. Lunch was almost over. All well, if he could drag this out long enough he wouldn't have to face his fourth period teacher. Drag it out long enough? Yeah… right… He sunk in the chair and stared at his hands for the entire interview. It was Harry's first offense of this magnitude, and the principal of their school had some rather crazy, new age ideas about suspension. She didn't believe in letting troublesome students stay home from school. In fact, she believed that's exactly what those troublesome students wanted. Harry walked away with three weeks of after school detention, one of which would also involve lunch time detention, and three Saturday schools. It wasn't as bad as it could've been, but he would've preferred suspension. True, it would look sucky on his record, but it was the only way in hell he'd ever get the extended holiday he wanted so damn badly. His dad couldn't argue with a suspension. Harry wouldn't have even minded being grounded from watching TV and playing video games if it meant…

He opened the door to his fourth period classroom under the pressure of his classmates' eyes.

"Nice of you to join us."

Without looking, Harry pressed his pass into the teacher's hand and dragged himself to his desk. The day was almost over. It had achieved complete and absolute suckiness and there was nowhere to go but up. Even having to admit he didn't have his homework in front of the entire class and carefully avoid the teacher's eyes all period paled in comparison. After this period he would skip out, go home, and screw the consequences. If his mood was horrible enough to cause him to fight with Flash like that, it was best to get out and get some sleep before it was too late. Well, okay, it was too late, but he was still so out of there it wasn't even funny.

When the bell rang he gathered his books and moved calmly down the hall. However, he passed the door to his next classroom, passed the water fountain, passed the bathroom, and pushed through the double doors into the blinding sun. The Parking Lot Nazi was no where to be seen. Harry sighed in relief as he slid behind the steering wheel and inserted the key. Whatever force had been making his life so terrible was finally cutting him some slack. Okay, so he still had to explain to his father why he would be late coming home from school for the next three weeks, and show him the paper that proved his son was and always would be a failure. Hm… Maybe he'd sneak by the lab and see Darlene. He knew he never had any real chance with her, but he really liked her and she always made him feel better. Yeah, that would be perfect.

Harry put a little more pressure on the gas, turning up his music to drown out the sound of his rumbling stomach. That's something else he'd have to do once he made it home: raid the fridge from top to bottom. He pulled into the OsCorp parking lot, turned off his engine, and hopped out of his car. On his way in, he kept an eye open in all directions for his father but he wasn't there. The chance that he would be at the labs wasn't great, but it was still great enough for Harry to be paranoid. No one bothered him as he strolled down the hall. Harry showed up there pretty frequently and the staff was used to him by now. He spied the lab number he wanted and strolled inside. The lab looked completely empty. Was everyone on break? Doc Ock was likely around somewhere. That man never took breaks. Maybe Otto would know where to find Darlene.

As Harry made his way through the maze of caged test animals and machinery he could barely fathom, let alone name, a strange crashing sound reached his ears. Harry stopped and cocked his head. He heard another crash followed by a rattle and, as he drew closer, heavy breathing. He was really curious and kind of worried now. Was somebody hurt? What he heard next quickly answered his question.

"What Harry doesn't know," Otto gasped, "can't hurt him."

Harry's heart leaped into his throat. Darlene and Otto often spent a lot of time working late together. What if… What if they weren't really working? What if Darlene and Otto… It would have seemed farfetched to him a few hours ago, but after everything that had happened he couldn't completely disregard it. It would be absolute rock bottom for this crappy day if Darlene ended up choosing that arrogant ass over him. Harry wouldn't kid himself into believing Darlene would go out with him, but at least she could've found somebody more deserving and appreciative of her radiance than Otto! Harry stormed angrily around a corner in the maze, not sure what he'd do or say. What he saw when he rounded the corner truly stopped his heart. For several terrifying seconds he actually couldn't breathe.

The contents of the desk in front of him were strewn all over the white tile floor along with Otto's lab coat... and glasses… and shirt. Otto himself was bent backwards over the desk with a shirtless person on top of him. The biochemist had one hand on the back of the person's head and was gripping the person's ass with his other hand. The person on top of Otto was feeling all over Otto's chest and sides, slowly running hands towards his fly. Seeing that would have been traumatic enough on its own, but Harry honestly thought he would die right there. Why? The person going at Otto like a dog in heat was none other than Norman Osborn. Norman Osborn: husband and father.

Yet all Harry could do was stand there, sporting an expression not unlike that of concussed guppy, and wonder if any sixteen-year-olds had ever died of heart attacks before now. Norman extract his tongue from Otto's mouth and began kissing and suckling down Otto's throat and chest. Harry finally just squawked out loud and threw himself backwards against the table behind him. Test tubes rattled, fell over, and shattered all over the floor, but most importantly the two men stopped and jumped up. Harry stared into his father's startled green eyes, fighting with all his might to just remain standing. Neither of them noticed Otto quietly gather his clothing, replace his glasses, and slip away into the maze of lab equipment, leaving the two Osborns to gawk at each other in the sudden silence.

The silence was growing unbearable. Harry finally just let out the first thing that bubbled out of his vocal chords. "My report card-"

Norman held up a silencing hand. "If you ignore this, I'll ignore your report card."

This sunk into Harry's overloaded and overworked brain slowly. Was his father actually trying to buy him off? Could Harry blackmail his father? "… and the fight I got into at school?"

"Yes."

"And can I stay home tomorrow?"

"Yes."

Harry blinked several times. If he left now and kept his mouth shut there was no telling what might happen. Did he really want to risk putting his mother through that? Then again, Harry had no idea how long this had been going on. What if they had already… Oh, fuck, this was all far too much! He… he just wanted to curl up in the dark and… just sleep through it all. Just sleep through it all! Harry wobbled and tried not to swoon. "Okay…" He whispered weakly and stumbled away, supporting himself on the table. Glass dug into his palms but Harry had gone numb all over. Whether or not he'd be able to drive himself home was the farthest thing from his mind. Fortunately, he staggered into Darlene returning from her lunch break.

"Harry?" She asked. The teenage boy was pale and it contrasted sharply with the dark circles under his eyes. There was something that looked like milk splatters drying on his clothes. "Don't you have school?"

"I… I'm just not feeling very well. Could you give me a lift home? Please?"

"You're father won't let me just leave…" She protested.

Harry glanced back at the door he'd just come through and felt something inside him churn. It rose in his throat, he opened his mouth, and doubled over with laughter. Darlene glanced around uncomfortably. "Don't… don't worry about my dad. He's," snicker, "kind of busy right now…" Harry gasped and grinned at her. "Please? I just… I really, really need to go home…"

Darlene's eyebrows knitted together. Harry was clearly in no shape to drive his self home. "All right." She put a comforting arm around his shoulders, deciding not to ask questions. "Let's go."

X)O(X

FATR: Yeah, I know, I took pity on him with the whole soda thing. Okay, it wasn't pity, I was just too lazy to try to figure out his reaction, and I was in a hurry to get to the last scene. The last scene was the entire reason I wrote this fic! There was this part in the Ultimate Six storyline where Norman actually tells Peter, "In a way, Otto and I are your parents." I mean, come on? What self respecting slash enthusiast wouldn't take advantage of that? Penguin Peace.


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